Kill the Dictator
by TheSeeliePendragonOfRavenclaw
Summary: Russia is tired of being stalked by his younger sister - but Belarus is just as tired. "Let's sit down and talk about our feelings" type rubbish. Hints of RusBel (or Ruslarus, as I prefer to call it.) Enjoy!


It had been bothering Russia for some time that his older sister dissolved into tears every time she looked at him and his little sister sometimes made him want to weep for the sense of family closeness they'd lost, but mostly just made him want to bury himself in a deep snowdrift in the furthest corner of Siberia he could find. Things were hard enough as it was: he couldn't understand why all the other countries seemed to be terrified of him and was wondering if he'd ever get them to trust him; just when he'd been getting quite fond of Lithuania, Estonia and Latvia (his little trio, as he'd affectionately nicknamed them), they'd tremblingly announced that they all hated him and left his house forever; and if America honestly believed Ivan didn't notice how he was constantly trying to undermine and outshine him then he might have also believed that Germany and Italy were twins who were secretly married and working to breed a new race of sausage-pasta-men. What Russia really didn't need was for his sisters to go all funny on him now. But, typically, they had.

He wasn't so worried about Ukraine. As long as she was happy and earning enough money to get by, he wasn't too upset to see her go. He could still see her a lot, so not much had really changed. She'd always been a crybaby who was fairly straightforward about her feelings, and Ivan knew that if she ever wanted to see him again she'd stop by for a visit, probably with a gift for him that she'd made herself.

But little sister Bela - he couldn't work her out at all. Which was ironic, because she wasn't exactly shy about telling him precisely what she wanted from him. It was just that her carefully-planned, long-craved union between them didn't really suit Russia's plans at all. He didn't like being alone, it was true, but since Belarus had returned to his house some years ago he'd almost developed a phobia of being alone with her.

He tried to explain the situation to his scarf, because there was no one else except Nataliya to talk to and he couldn't imagine sharing his emotions with her. "Don't get me wrong, it's not that she isn't a lovely person. Well, actually... it IS that she isn't a lovely person. In fact, she's horrible. I mean, forget that she's my sister for a moment, I'd still rather—"

"Beeg brather?"

Inwardly Ivan cursed. "Hello, Belarus," he said weakly. His sister narrowed her eyes at him.

"So it's _Belarus_ now, is it, not Natasha?" she observed, arching an eyebrow. Russia felt as though he was up in front of a firing squad. The sense of helplessness was closing in, as it invariably did on those dread occasions when Nataliya succeeded in cornering him. "Anyway, I just wanted to ask you to marry me—" Ivan exhaled in a mixture of resignment and exasperation "—and also why you were talking to your scarf," she finished curiously.

As usual, he ignored the first question. She had probably known he would; he'd been doing that ever since she first started asking five times a day or more. Ever since he'd realised it was a serious question. Instead Ivan said, rather defensively, of the second issue: "It's a good listener, and I don't know who else to talk to."

Straightaway he realised he'd been tactless when Belarus's shoulders drooped and she replied plaintively (with just the hint of a scowl) "You can talk to me. I'm here. I've always been here. Let's face it, I'll probably always be here because you're the only person who accepts me, and even _you_ can't stand the sight of me." She dropped her gaze, a lost, slightly wild look entering her violet eyes.

Those eyes always gave Russia a pang - they were so similar to his own even though the face that framed them was so different.

"I don't hate you!" he protested. "I just... Please don't hate me for saying this, but sometimes I wish you weren't so clingy." Russia broke off, trembling visibly. His sister seemed not to notice.

"But Vanya, I need you! You're my big brother, the one who is always strong, the one who is always in control, the one who has all the power, the one who nobody else dares to mess with. You teach me the country I should be. But I'm weak, and I can't be that country. I mustn't be weak. That was the first thing you taught me."

Ivan hadn't realised that his sister thought of him as a role model, and the idea was flattering but vaguely lonely, because he knew that once he didn't have to be her role model. She had been strong on her own - stronger probably than Ukraine ever would be - before she had started needing him. It was his fault. Tentatively he reached out and laid a large gloved hand over the clasped white fists in her lap.

"Maybe you don't have to be that country. For now, maybe you could try just to be that person?" Belarus nodded slightly, as though she didn't want to admit that the idea actually made sense. "Kill the dictator, Bela. It's the one who dictates your feelings who tells you you need me to be strong. Get rid of that, and maybe you'll find that managing without me is easier than you thought." He spoke with more conviction than he felt. There was a long silence. Belarus turned to look at him with wide, beseeching eyes.

"Ivan?" she breathed. Russia nodded, feeling his chest tighten. That wasn't the obsessive, stalker-sister voice that had just spoken; it was the voice of the little girl who used to come into his room for reassurance when she'd had a nightmare. "I... I don't think I'm strong enough to kill the dictator."

He heard her voice tremble and wondered if she'd ever looked so vulnerable. "Can you kill it for me, Ivan? Tell me you don't love me, that might work."

Shocked, Russia let go of her hand. "I can't say that! You're my sister!"

"You love me the way a brother is supposed to love his sister, don't you?" Belarus pressed on, a note of urgency in her voice.

Ivan wanted to groan. Why did conversations with Natasha always lead to talking about his feelings? "Yes, I guess so," he mumbled, wishing he could be left alone.

"I know that, and you know that. But the dictator won't accept it from me," Nataliya muttered musingly to herself. "Please tell the dictator you don't love me, Vanya. Then maybe things can be normal between us again."

Ivan sighed softly. "Natasha, I don't love you," he admitted.

Belarus let out a little squeak and turned her face away from him while she wiped a patch of tears from the corner of her eye. "Спасибо," she murmured after a short pause.

"It's okay," Ivan replied, slightly embarrassed.

Belarus suddenly bounded up in front of him. "So when are you going to marry me?" she asked cheekily. It was the first time he had been able to tell that she was joking in a long time, and as she skipped out of the room he realised quite how nice his leetle seester was when she was truly happy.

"Not a horrible person," he whispered to his scarf in amendment. There was one problem on the list that he could stop worrying about, thank goodness.


End file.
